Pity?

Not often a picture moves me to tears. But this one did. I have no words.

What can I say? What can I do? Nothing. An oppressive sadness, not because of where or who he is, but rather that no matter how I try, I cannot help this man. That sure helplessness grates more at the heart than any feeling of pity or remorse at not caring more.

A forced voyeurism that tears at the soul, rending at illusions of comfort, laying bare the cruel foundations of our common humanity.

If I help, If I can somehow change this life, would he accept it, born out of pity that it is? Or would I somehow devalue his self worth and life experience because of that pity? Compassion is not pity. Compassion is understanding.

And Saint Francis embraced the leper.

Dare I?